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STREETS and FACES 

by 
SCUDDER MIDDLETON 



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STREETS AND FACES 



THE LITTLE BOOK PUBLISHER 
All Bights Reserved 



STREETS AND FACES 



BY 

SCUDDER MIDDLETON 
ft 



THE LITTLE BOOK PUBLISHER 

ARLINGTON, N. J. 

1917 






T$ 3 * \V\ 



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Copyright, 191T 
By The Little Book Publisher 



MAY 15 1917 

©GI.A460814 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Faces 1 

Arophe 3 

Mother 4 

Deliverance 6 

The Stranger 7 

Ghosts 8 

Barren 9 

The Man of the Field . . . . . . 11 

The Heavenly Intrigue .... 13 

The Tower ......... 14 

A Woman 17 

The Walker in the Night . . .18 

The Clerk .21 

Presence 24 

The Wax Museum for Men ... 25 
The Lost Secret . . . . . .27 

The Waiting Woman 28 

To the Moon 32 

Children 33 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Return 38 

In Union Square 39 

Interlude 41 

The Lost Comrade . . . ■ . . .42 

To an Old Couple 44 

Written in Palgrave's Golden 
Treasury 45 

Revelation . .47 

Sea Wisdom 49 

The Iconoclast 50 

Richard Middleton 51 

Wilton Barrett 52 

The White Magician 53 

The Journey 55 



The author gratefully acknowledges the 
courtesy of the editors of Poetry (Chi- 
cago), The Forum, The Bellman, The 
Poetry Journal, Harper's Magazine, The 
Poetry Review and Contemporary Verse 
in permitting the reprinting of poems 
which have first appeared in these maga- 
zines. 



TO L. D. 

Young Keats had made a heaven for your face, 

And Shelley some Urania for your eyes, 

And he, who for the shadowy Deirdre wept, 

A fairy twilight for your woman's soul. 

I do not lift my songs above the earth, 

I lean no glittering ladder on the sky, 

For your white feet to find the sacred star ; 

Seeing the common majesty of life, 

The temporal grace of man's achieving heart, 

I do not need a Paradise to phrase 

The mastering music of your human ways. 



FACES 

In the night and in the day, unheralded 

they come 
Whispering, singing — bringing me out of 

the past 
The beautiful unguessed secret of their 

eyes. . . . 

Faces, mingled with spray and the sun- 
light on shoal waters, 

Rise out of lost seas to tell me the joy of 
my childhood — 

He who was my playmate, takes my hand 
and again we wander. 

Simple, brooding, earnest faces, lifted long 
ago to greet me as I passed the sum- 
mer fields, 

Come back with the murmur of wind and 
rain and waving grain — 

She who gave me to drink, when thirsty I 
paused at the farm-house gate, 



STREETS AND FACES 

Smiles at me often over the brimming dip- 
per. 

Wistful, yearning, masked faces out of far 

cities, 
Seen once for a moment, then suddenly 

gone in the whirl of the throng, 
Move again beside me as I walk with the 

hurrying crowd — 
Some nameless girl, of other lonely days, 

with bright eyes haunts the city 

streets. . . . 

Hidden away in my heart is a world of 

lovely faces ! 
Faces of friends and lovers, 
They wake me in the night with the music 

of words, 
They touch my lips with belated kisses — 
The woman I loved takes me again, in the 

dark, to her quiet breast. 



AROPHE 

There was a house that loved the morning, 
Where now only the spring wind grieves. 
I will not wake again beside you 
And hear the sparrows in the eaves. 

I will not reach again 

For budding boughs above you 

To draw the valorous blossom to your lips. 

Never again we two will wander 

The sea-blown road to the harbor ships. 

The swift, white city makes a thunder 
Under my window night and day. 
I will not follow your magic finger 
Over the roofs to Arophe. 



MOTHER 

Though through the pain of many months 
you held me 

A mystery beneath your girlish heart, 

Though on your quiet breast my first tears 
fell 

And there my first vague thoughts were 
weakly voiced, 

Though with a guiding touch you sent me 
out 

From your reluctant arms into the world, 

Though all your love went after me in 
prayers, 

Though you made dreams around my boy- 
ish face,— ■ 

O Mother, this is pain to you and me — 

We are but little more than strangers now 1 

But little more than strangers, yet I feel 
A loneliness and longing for your arms ; 
Could I but come again and be a child, 
Hear you in low voice call that secret 
name 

4 



MOTHER 

You gave me for my locks of yellow hair ; 
Could I reach out once more with little 

hands 
And find you near me in the silent night — 

Mother, I would not be sad as now, 
Nor would you gaze so wistful at the 

young! 

For we had understood each other then. 
But time has torn me from your lovely 

breast 
And I have wandered far, O Mother, far 
From that sweet nursery of your peaceful 

arms; 
Life told a different story to my heart 
And now I speak a language strange to 

you. 

Yet no — I would not, Mother, if I could, 
Come back and be again that little child! 
Though there is pain in me and loneliness, 
Though there are tears behind your quiet 
eyes — 

1 must be now about my spirit's work ! 
O Mother, this is bitter truth to me — 
We are but little more than strangers now ! 



DELIVERANCE 

I was a heavenly captive once 
Among the solitary stars. 
Go, tell them in the lane and street 
That I have bent the angel bars, 
And come upon the tides of light 
To feel the rocking Earth again! 
Tell them, where stream and ocean meet, 
God's Heaven is a lonely place, 
That I return to Birth and Death 
And Love's uncertain gift of grace. 



THE STRANGER 

I am the lonely man the crowds pass by, 
I am the listener in the room above the 

street, 
I am he who waits and knows not why — 

City, have you no gift for me? 
Have you no healing word to speak, 

No voice of all your many voices I can 
understand ? 

1 have come a long way over roads that 

wounded, 
I entered your streets with a dream in my 

breast — 
Be not cruel, beautiful City, for I came 

to love you — 
Show me a flower or the face of a friend! 



GHOSTS 

The ghosts of the spring are haunting 

autumn — 
The sighing wind and the sobbing rain; 
I hear them come in the dusk and mutter, 
Searching the land for their loves again — 
For the pale new rose and the green vine 

twining, 
For the beautiful grass and the singing 

grain ; 
Out of the gray of the day they wander 
Over the land for their loves again. 

The ghosts of my youth are haunting my 

heart — 
The simple trust and the dreams long slain ; 
I feel them come in the wind and water, 
Searching my heart for their boy again — 
For the wondering child with the eyes of 

laughter, 
For the glorious joy untouched by pain; 
Out of the dusk and the rain they wander, 
Searching my heart for their boy again. 
8 



BARREN 

Sometimes I wish that we had never met, 
That I had never seen those eyes of yours 
So wonderful and clear and full of youth, 
That I had never taught my hands to know 
And love the cool and golden of your hair, 
For now my love of you is full of pain, 
Deep knowing pain that numbs my heart 

and soul 
And fills my eyes with hot and bitter tears 
Because of something that can never be! 

O I have lately learned to hate the sound 
Of little children's feet, their little cries 
Have mocked me when within your arms I 

lay, 
And I have seen their tiny hands reach out 
And take you from me in the lonely 

night. 
O love, my love of you is full of pain! 
Sometimes I wish that we had never met, 



STREETS AND FACES 

That I had gone the winding way of years 
To dream some quiet dream and call it 

life — 
This had been best I think for you and 

me. 



10 



THE MAN OF THE FIELD 

Clear and strong against the glowing West 
I see you in the field, while over all the 

land the twilight falls; 
Pensive and silent in the dusk you stand, 

a part of evening's majesty. 

Why did I pity you, not knowing or un- 
derstanding? 

Gazing upon you now, I know it is you 
who should have pitied me — 

I who was caught in the mesh of Time, 

A thing of brain, around whose heart the 
years were prison bars, 

A servant to the nights and days, 

A captive dreamer walking the little gar- 
nished cell of vanished hours, 

Forever gazing through the gate that 
would not open — 

O it is 3'ou who should have pitied me ! 

What to me the wisdom of the world bound 
up in painted cloth and gold, 

11 



STREETS AND FACES 

Who never let the unknown wanderer in 

to share my roof and food? 
What to me the Pleiades, who never walked 

beneath their light 
With understanding and unquestioning 

heart ? 
What to me the sweet and quiet face of 

Jesus slumbering on Mary's breast, 
What this to me who never felt the warmth 

of little children in my arms? 

O Adam of the sacred fields, you till an- 
other Eden in my heart 

And plant the holy seed that soon will 
sing! 



12 



THE HEAVENLY INTRIGUE 

As he who catches, in passing, 
A glimpse of himself in a mirror, 
Suddenly becomes aware of a being 
Detached from the scheme of the moment, 
So we two, in each other's arms, 
At a time of wonder and silence, 
Saw, for a flash, our figures 
Move and blend in the heavenly intrigue — 
Not as the King and the Queen of creation, 
But as the foolish deluded builders, 
Rearing impossible towers and singing 
Under the whip of an absolute master. 



13 



THE TOWER 

(Madison Square) 

Tower rising through the low hung clouds, 
The moon is on your marble and the gleam 
Of a thousand candles in your golden 

dome ; 
You fill the dark with wonder dazzling the 

stars, 
Leaning another Campanile on the gor- 
geous night! 

Another Campanile! 

At the sound of your bells 

The gone city of water echoes again with 

life. 
The dreams of monks and the lust and 

laughter of Venice 
Lurk in your shadows and your high-flung 

dome; 
The wind around you is the wind of Rome 

14 



THE TOWER 

Blowing from pageantries of pomp and 

vice; 
Your light is such as burned to guide the 

galleons 
When singing Petrarch was a boy 
And roamed the winding Arno for the 

lovely Laura! 

Another Campanile! 

Often I have seen you as now, rising high 
above the shaking streets, 

Reaching a great white arm into the hur- 
rying clouds ; 

Many sunsets have I seen melting and fad- 
ing on your dome of gold; 

And I have watched the lights of dawn 

Blossom and glow on your eastern panes, 

Until you seemed a vine of roses clamor- 
ing to the day ! 

Another Campanile! 
Built on the glamorous dust of death, 
You are a symbol too of towers yet to be. 
Now when I see you, calm above the fev- 
ered street, 
Immaculate in the moonlight of the spring, 

15 



STREETS AND FACES 

You are no rigid plan of stone and steel 
But something vastly human reaching to 
the stars. 



the living tower of Man ! 

Rising out of love and the sweet, prolific 

earth, 
With visioning lamps set burning in the 

dome of thought 
And the world-reverberant bells of speech 

and song 
Ringing along the waiting years ! 



16 



A WOMAN 

She had an understanding with the years ; 
For always in her eyes there was a light 
As though she kept a secret none might 

guess — 
Some confidence that Time had made her 

heart. 
So calmly did she bear the weight of pain, 
With such serenity accept the joy, 
It seemed she had a mother-love for life, 
And all the days were children at her 

breast. 



17 



THE WALKER IN THE NIGHT 

I awake in the night and hear the sound 
of passing feet. 

Only a moment it lingers outside my win- 
dow, 

Then dies away along the empty street ; 

Only a moment it echoes in my room, 

Yet I lie awake a long time after, 

Lonely and wondering. 

Who are you, walker in the night, break- 
ing in on my dreams, 

Then suddenly gone? 

A dim shadow moving swiftly across my 
window, and a little sound, 

Coming out of darkness and silence, leav- 
ing darkness and silence, 

Irretrievably lost — 

Who are you that I lie awake, wondering 
and lonely, 

Thinking of you? 

18 



THE WALKER IN THE NIGHT 

O walker in the night, we are not 

strangers ! 
We have walked together many times, I 

know, 
Down many glorious streets beneath the 

truthful sun ! 
In the violet shadows of the city we have 

met and passing, gazed upon each 

other's face; 
We have been together in the glare of 

changing lights ; 
In the jostling crowd we have caught each 

other's laughter, little words, 
Or seen the sorrow hidden away behind 

each other's eyes. 
Together we have heard the singing of the 

city — 
The roll of many wheels and the beat of 

a million feet, 
Heard the whistles at dawn and the far, 

faint call through the night 
Of the boats on the bay and the hurrying 

outbound trains. 
Many times we both have walked under the 

watching stars and the pilgrim moon 



19 



STREETS AND FACES 

Along forsaken lamp-lit streets in the quiet 

places of the city; 
Gone by the silent houses dark, when all 

were sleeping, 
Questioning, thoughtful, lifting up our 

eyes to the unanswering sky — 
Lonely and wondering! 

walker in the night, 

More than a passing shadow and a little 
sound are you to me ! 

We have been together long, O spirit of 
the beautiful crowd! 

We are friends, we are lovers, we are chil- 
dren out of the womb of the city ! 

More sacred than any dream of sleep is 
the dream you bring, 

Passing my window in the silent night — 

1 lie awake a long time, lonely and won- 

dering, 
Thinking of you ! 



20 



THE CLERK 

" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
That is all that he can say where he sits 

in Heaven ; 
" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Through the long celestial day. 

" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Once he used to sing it down the halls of 

Heaven ; 
" Work is hard but there's an answer, 
Far ahead great things are waiting, 
I will add the magic Figures, 
I will seek the gleaming Balance — 
I will win the Master's praise." 

" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Not so careful now in the place of Heaven ; 

21 



STREETS AND FACES 

" Work is good but there is pleasure, 
I am young with time before me — 
bright angel, from the shops of Heaven, 
Dance awhile, the Harper's playing — 
Drink the rainbow wine with me ! " 



" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Then he only droned it on his stool in 

Heaven ; 
" Work is bread and bread is living, 
Little mouths grow very hungry 
In the rooms of Paradise — 
She must wear a golden feather 
When she walks along the sky." 

" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Just a whisper now through the walls of 

Heaven ; 
"01 cannot find the error, 
Cannot strike the gleaming Balance — 
All the magic's out of Figures, 
All the wonder out of loving, 
And the Master has no praise." 

22 



THE CLERK 

" Two and two are four, four and three 

are seven " — 
Still he mutters on at the books of Heaven ; 
" Work is bread and bread is living " — 
Through the long celestial day. 



23 



PRESENCE 

Last night I lay beside you while you slept 
And watched the rhythmic rising of your 

breast ; 
Outside the city trembled in her old un- 
rest, 
Calling along the lonely lamp-lit streets. 
I only heard you breathing at my side, 
I only felt your hand within my hand, — 
The little pulse forever beating songs ! 

To-night my face is far away from yours ; 
My eyes look out across the moving sea, 
Rising and falling underneath the moon; 
I hear the wash of water and the beat 
Of waves forever breaking on the sand. 
O love, though I am not with you to-night, 
Here is the rhythm of your sleeping 

breast, 
Here is the music of your little hand ! 



24 



THE WAX MUSEUM FOR MEN 

Boldly it stands beneath the tallest tow- 
ers 
Upon a street of granite and of glass ; 
The ever changing crowds that come and 

pass 
Are mirrored in its windows day and night. 
There is no mark above the doors to tell 
What lies beyond the thresholds wide and 

dim, 
Only a glittering sign with letters grim 
Spelling the words : " For Men. Come 

In and See." 
But I have entered through its calling 

doors 
And know the hideous secret kept apart 
Here in the city's vast, prodigious heart — 
Hidden away to shame the truthful sun. 
Behind its quiet walls my eyes have seen 
A refutation of all reaching towers, 
All pageantries that streak the glamorous 
hours 

25 



STREETS AND FACES 

And go to shuddering music down the 
street ! 

For there, disgraced, the lovely Body 

lies — 
Man's shining Body bleeding, wrecked, for- 
lorn, 
Its sacred temples trampled down and 

torn, 
And all the marvel and the magic gone ! 
There in the silence of a little room 
Are mocked the songs and all the dreams 

that rise 
Around the Paradise of human eyes — 
The hymn to Beauty in the face of Helen, 
The voice of fair Iseult along the sea, 
And my own love's sweet lips come home to 

me — 
Damned there in cold unanswerable wax! 
There the eternal pilgrimage of Love — 
Man ever wandering to a woman's 

breast — 
Becomes a worthless and a wanton quest: 
A tramp with harlots through the streets 

of Time ! 



26 



THE LOST SECRET 

Though there is something that I long 

to tell, 
I do not often stop and speak to them, 
For when I do it is an awkward phrase 
That comes self-conscious, halting to my 

lips — 
A foolish chatter such as nurses make — 
And they grow ill at ease and turn away 5 
Or else look wide-eyed up at me and smile, 
As though they thought it fun that I, so 

big, 
Knew not the secret ways of little words; 
And this is strange to me, for once I spoke 
That very language they can understand. 
I think I learned it from the simple flowers, 
Or it was taught me by the quiet stars - — 
But now, somehow, I have forgotten it, 
Somehow have lost the secret of it all, — 
Now I am silent when I am with them, 
Though there is something that I long to 

say. 

27 



THE WAITING WOMAN 

See me sitting, waiting here, 
Waiting where the lights are blear, 
With my spangles and my lace, 
And my haggard painted face; 
Fever-eyed and frowsy-haired, 
With a powdered bosom bared — 
Waiting in the night to scan 
Desire in the face of man. 

See me sitting, waiting here 
For the boy whose eyes are clear, 
Half believing in the worth 
Of my counterfeited mirth, 
Half deceived by smiles and sighs — 
Seeking Love's delightful eyes — 
Seeking me for what love seems — 
I his first love out of dreams. 

See me sitting, waiting here 
For the man of pain and fear, 



28 



THE WAITING WOMAN 

Nameless, lonely in the night, 
Wanting words and wanting light; 
Longing for a heart to know 
Just a little of his woe — 
Many such my lips have kissed, 
Keeping love's belated tryst. 

See me sitting, waiting here 
For the man to buy me beer, 
For the man of dirt within, 
Brooding some new body-sin; 
Seeking in a drunken lust 
What the angels hold in trust. 
Foul he comes to fouler ways — 
This is little since he pays. 

See me sitting, waiting here — 
What are they who come me near, 
Down the narrow nights of time — 
Eager Youth and lonely Prime, 
And the Beast of one desire, 
Reaching with the claws of fire — 
What are they to me who wait 
Dark, inscrutable to fate? 

See me sitting, waiting here 
Where I've waited year on year, 

29 



STREETS AND FACES 

Patient like a thing of stone 
While the centuries have flown; 
On my slaving woman breast 
All man's sorrows writhe or rest ; 
Many souls have played a part 
In the making of my heart. 

See me sitting, waiting here, 
Waiting where the lights are drear, 
Waiting until man shall sing 
In his heart the perfect thing — 
See and understand for this 
All the burden of my kiss — 
Know it was the good in me 
Wrought my body's infamy. 

I have been waiting long 
For the music of this song! 
Silent in the black of years 

1 have waited cold in tears ; 
Once alone my ears have heard 
From the dark its perfect word, 
Heard it sounded once afar 

In the Roman lupanar. 

O the singing Nazarene — 

He had made me sweet and clean, 

30 



THE WAITING WOMAN 

Placed my hand within His hand 
That my heart might understand! 
O my heart His heart within, 
He had seen beneath my sin 
Burned the everlasting flame — 
Soul of me and Christ the same! 

See me sitting, waiting here, 
Waiting where the lights are blear, 
With my spangles and my lace, 
And my haggard painted face; 
Fever-eyed and frowsy-haired, 
With a powdered bosom bared — 
Waiting in the night to scan 
Darkness in the face of man. 



31 



TO THE MOON 

Questioning you come 
Sibyl-like out of the darkened ocean, 
Trailing your argent hair 
Across the broken water. 

Wanderer, 

Take me into your cool bosom 

And make me a part of you. 

Lay your soft hands of light over my eyes 

And mix me with your memories. 

Tender vestal of the night, 

Give me your heavenly gift of peace. 



CHILDREN 



Heavy are the rain-drops falling from the 

eaves. 
I awake in the dark and hear them, 
After the storm is over. 
Drip, drip, drip, — 
On the wooden walk below. 

Louder than the howl of the trembling 

storm 
Are the little voices of forgotten rain. 
Though I cover my ears, 
Still the blood through my veins keeps 

time 
To the certain, fatal falling — 
Dead! Dead! Dead! 

II 

'"he stood above me in the narrow hallway. 
Looking up I saw and knew her: 
Young Rossetti's Damozel, 

33 



STREETS AND FACES 

Leaning on the golden stair-rail, 
Yellow country daisies in her hand. 
Up there, too, I knew was heaven — 
Not the kind, perhaps, God rules in, 
Giving stars to hopeless lovers, 
But a little four-walled heaven, 
Looking out on city pavements 
Where the angels rarely walked. 

Ill 

Eve, my beloved Eve, 

Be not afraid! 

My arms are around you; 

He cannot find us here. 

Let His -flaming Cherubim wield their fiery 

swords — 
They guard an empty garden now. 

Eve, Eve, my beloved Eve, 
Lift up your face and look at me. . . . 
Ah, you are lovelier now 
Than when I saw you first 
Beside the red Euphrates in the dawn! 
Do you remember? — 
We were two children and we knew not 
what we did. 

34, 



CHILDREN 

Eve, my beloved Eve, 
Weep not for those forbidding years; 
Take me again upon your breast — 
A wiser Paradise is in our kiss! 

pain and pleasure of the Fruit! 

IV 

1 shut the door on the shaking street. 
The hall was silent and dark. 

Then up two flights of stairs — 

Slowly, wearily, with heavy feet. 

I thought of the times I had heard my 
name, 

There on that narrow stair-way — 

But now she did not call. 

She lay on a cot; 

Her eyes were wet and she stirred, 

Restless in pain. 

On the wall the yellow gas-flame flickered ; 

It filled the room with ghostly shadows — 

A mockery of the sun that had loved her 
windows. 

Her clothes lay on the chair beside her, 

Huddled, pathetic — white things like her- 
self. 

35 



STREETS AND FACES 

The doctor spoke — 

I remember only the whisky upon his 

breath, 
Then his step on the stair 
And the shameless voice of the city 
As he opened the outer door. 
Then silence, pitiless silence. . . . 
Two poor children, ignorant, bewildered, 

baffled, beaten — 
Alone in silence. . . . 
Only the hiss of the yellow gas-flame 
And the creak of the wooden cot. 



Outside in the barn the horses are moving; 
Restlessly they stamp on the floor of their 
stalls. 

(Knock, knock, knock, — 
Will the door ever open?) 

O creatures out there in the dark, 

Are you, too, aware of the treacherous 

night, 
The calm, deceitful night that is plan- 
ning, 

36 



CHILDREN 

Forever scheming behind the mask of 
moon and stars? 

(Knock, knock, knock,- — 
Will the door ever open?) 

Poor, helpless beasts are we that know, 
Yet do not understand! 



37 



THE RETURN 

Hold me, hold me, love — your lips are 
life! 

Here on your heart my heart now under- 
stands : 

Home have I come at last from alien 
lands — 

A pilgrim through the darkness to your 
eyes! 

Hold me, my love, — I know the answer 
now. 

O wayward, ever wandering feet of man — 

Always the journey ends where it be- 
gan! . . . 

Out of my mother's arms into your own! 

Hold me, O love, serene against }^our 

breast ! 
The sun takes up the wave and gives the 

rain. 
Over the dead the grass is green again. 
The lark is singing on the ruined wall. 
38 



IN UNION SQUARE 

For me it is a pleasant thing to sit 
Here, in the Square, the sunlight on my 

face ; 
A pleasant thing to see the simple grace 
Of men and girls as they go walking by; 
I like this city-sound of moving feet, 
This murmuring of voices in the day — 
They waken little dreams in me that stay, 
And fill my waiting heart with prescient 

thoughts. 

But you, old man, what do you watch and 

wait? 
Beside me many noons you now have sat, 
With dusty ragged coat and broken hat, 
Touching your stained gray beard with 

wrinkled hands ; 
I do not think this pageant of the crowd, 
Which for my eyes holds wonder and de- 
light, 

39 



STREETS AND FACES 

Has any lovely meaning in your sight — 
You keep no tryst with dreams in Union 
Square. 

Yet when I turn from gazing on the 

throng — 
The sweet-eyed women and the youthful 

men — 
To look at you all bowed and bent, the 

song 
I love of marching feet somehow is done, 
The voices die; I understand you then — 
You silent prophet sitting in the sun ! 



40 



INTERLUDE 

Slowly she opens her eyes and lifts her 
head from the pillow. 

Through the chinks in the tight-closed 
shutter 

Thin lines of light pierce the room's dark- 
ness, 

Pointing like fingers at the floor 

Where her clothes lie strewn and crumpled. 

For long she leans on her elbow and 
watches, 

Entranced by a dream stolen out of her 
slumber, 

Vivid and glowing, 

Flowing like music on the swift inquiring 
sunlight. 

Then the form at her side stirs and the 
rhythm is broken, 

Hard hands pull her down to a face seek- 
ing kisses — 

A slave again, serving her master. 



41 



THE LOST COMRADE 

I had hoped, when I saw you, 

There in the tavern, 

So free and so strong, 

That we would be comrades, 

Going together always along an outward 

road 
Through dawn and noon and night-time — 
Brothers-in-arms, 
For the wounds and the rewards. 

But you said: — 

" Friend, let us loiter awhile 

Here in this pleasant place. 

The wine is sweet and the fire is good, 

And they around us have wit and laughter. 

Better some easy comfort for the flesh 

Than a lonely path through the starless 

darkness ; 
Better the sheltering warmth of these 

homely rafters 

42 



THE LOST COMRADE 

Than a gray sky blowing a chill damp 
wind." 

— And almost I stayed, just to be with 

you! 
But, even as you spoke, I heard the sound 

of the battle, 
Outside, down the road, over the hill — 

somewhere, 
And I could not stay to drain the glass 

with you. 
I drew my sword while you toasted a lady, 
And I left you singing, 
You and the others, 
There in the rosy tavern. 



43 



TO AN OLD COUPLE 

Wait a little while — 
Death will answer to your nodding ; 
Like a friend he will come and find you, 
Take you both and fold you from the sun. 

Two old, tired people! 

What does it matter to you now 

That no one thing was completed, 

Not even a single task set the early heart 

Achieved in fulness? 

Bow on your mute assents to life! 

The years unravel the designs of youth, 

Yet time brings at the last 

The serene illusion of accomplishment. 

When your two wrinkled hands meet in 

the night — 
You know that all is well. 

Wait awhile — 
The door will open. 

44 



WRITTEN IN PALGRAVE'S GOLDEN 

TREASURY OF SONGS AND 

LYRICS 

Here are the beautiful words of men and 

women. 
Here is the echo, only the echo, of the 

music of their lives — 
The songs and threnodies — 
Coming to us now like whispers out of the 

dark, 
Beautiful words that tell so little! 

O to have known them, these men and 

women like ourselves ! 
To have seen the light in their eyes and 

heard them speak; 
To have felt the touch of their hands, 

friendly in our own; 
To have gone with them under the golden 

sun through city streets, 
Or over meads and heathered lands, 

45 



STREETS AND FACES 

Or silent stood by them near oceans in 
the night ! 

Here is only the echo of the music of their 

lives, 
Beautiful words that tell so little. 



46 



REVELATION 

Not in those thoughtless moments when 

our hearts 
Were like the little children's wild and 

free — 
And we forgetful in our new found joy 
Went wandering along unearthly ways — 
Celestial playmates with the stars for 

toys — 
Not in those moments, O my bright-eyed 

child, 
Was our love's hidden face to us revealed ; 
Nor when we paused, the disillusioned pair, 
Reaching with groping hands across the 

dark 
To hear, unanswering, the solemn words 
Of Life, the unrelenting questioner; 
Not then, nor even in those living hours 
When passion held a rose against our 

cheeks 
And made a music of our beating hearts 

47 



STREETS AND FACES 

As each to each they lay the long night 
through — 

Not in those moments was our love re- 
vealed ! 

But when to-day from dreams we both 

awoke 
With touch of early sunlight on our eyes, 
To hear the city singing in the dawn, 
O then there came a morning in our hearts ! 
For then we knew what poverty it was 
Had kept us lonely though our lips had 

met! 
As silently we listened side by side, 
Far away we heard like magic flutes 
The whistles calling to the breaking day, 
And rising to us from the shaking streets, 
Mixed with the serenade of marching feet, 
The sound of laughter and of little words. 
O then we saw not in ourselves alone 
Could we hold love a thing apart, con- 
cealed, 
But that together fearless we must go 
Leading our love all-glorious in the sun 
Along the singing highways of the world. 



48 



SEA WISDOM 

She'll come again with her incomparable 

smile, 
And I'll not be afraid. 
The winds that brought Ulysses home 
Have blown away the mists that lay 
Between her eyes and mine. 

There'll be no silence when she calls my 

name, 
For I have learned at last to speak. 
The waves that taught Demosthenes 
Have made my song as free and strong 
As her unfaltering speech. 



49 



THE ICONOCLAST 

She needed love to crystallize her 

dreams — 
Of flesh alone his kisses were conceived; 
A word had called her forth, the pioneer — 
He showed her life dressed up in cap and 

bells. 
Because she was identified with all 
That he had either lost or put aside, 
He wished her bitter even as himself 
To prove the error he had found in God. 



50 



RICHARD MIDDLETON AND A 
CERTAIN CRITIC 

Speak not his name, he can not hear your 

voice, 
For long ago he put you out of mind — 
You and your shouting world were not his 

choice, 
Having a dream to follow and to find. 

Must he be judged, then let it be by one 
Faithful to Beauty in his soul's distress, 
Who in that silence when the song is done 
Has felt the pain of mortal loveliness. 

Ah no! He keeps no shame nor dark re- 
grets 

Where now he calmly goes, his music 
sung — 

Only a memory of violets 

Beneath the feet of the beloved young. 



51 



WILTON BARRETT 

To him they were not merely pretty toys, 
To play with for a day then put aside. 
The tiny craft he built with so much care 
Were symbols of those free and lovely 

things 
That have their being in the artist's heart. 

The summer-boarders smiled and had 
their j oke ; 

For it was strange to see a man full- 
grown, 

Whittling away through summer after- 
noons. 

Perhaps they did not know that Shelley, 
too, 

Made little boats and gave them airy 
names 

While Adonais echoed in his mind. 



THE WHITE MAGICIAN 

Because he had a dream of lovelier things 
He would not praise this life of bread and 

lust, 
Would not renounce his vision for the 

ease 
That comes of thinking with the common 

lot. 
There was a white magician in his mind 
By whose immaculate wand he saw new 

worlds, 
Bright, swift, immeasurable dancing stars 
That had their golden orbits near the sun 
And were like mirrors to the hearts of 

men. 

What if the people killed him for a fool ? — 
Within the minds of those who under- 
stood, 
The white magician, wisely unperturbed, 
Still conjured Beauty by a subtle wand, 

53 



STREETS AND FACES 

And there was nothing lost save flesh and 

bone 
And some sweet human presence — 

scarcely missed. 



54> 



THE JOURNEY 

What matter where the Apple grows ? 
True heroes never count the miles. 
The journey leads to where it leads — 
Sargasso or the Western Isles. 

No one place holds the dreams of all. 
Earth wears a multi-colored robe, 
And there are new Hesperides 
In every corner of the globe. 

Some find the fruit like Hercules — 
For such the moon and sun may stop ; 
Yet never doubt that Sisyphus 
Achieved at last the mountain top. 



55 



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